lets ignore the fact that it's currently one in the morning, i'm really tired, haven't done my homework and i'm updating this because holy shit it's been two months. full a/n at the bottom. just read this chapter. you meet a new character. picture of bellamy here.
"Truth is that you wanna move."
–Little Mix, Move
James runs a hand through his thick black hair. It's a quiet symbol of irritation at my sudden tenacity for training, forcing him to be here. I don't talk back; I don't make –many– snide remarks. We're on our twentieth session. In three weeks. Time passes like the melting of snow leaving the city with water at pedestrians' ankles. It's the middle of December, nearing the time people write annoying twitter statuses about how blessed they are for winter break. But I won't be seeing my family this Christmas. And somehow, that weighs on me like a trial by fire, begging for the gold to be revealed.
After a fascinating lesson on acting but not reacting, James tests my comprehension in the only way he knows how: by trying to smash my moral compass against a wall.
On a dark mat that contrasts against light grey floors, both of us stand, sinking slightly into the cushion. We circle each other like foes assessing weakness, wondering who will make the first move.
In the end, I snap forward, fist out. The only sounds heard are grunts of effort and the squeaking of our feet with the friction of the mat. James dodges my attacks with finesse. We're a perfect choreography of one step forward, two steps back. That is, until he reaches the end of the line and loses his balance. He must regret teaching me this trick because as soon as he's off his center of gravity, it's almost too easy.
I run a semi-circle around him and push with all my strength. He lands with a thud that almost makes me wince. I don't miss the way his right leg takes the most of the fall. In safety, I stand a reasonable distance away. Waiting. His chest rises and falls in rhythmic breathing that bounces off the windowless walls of the room. Eyes closed. His face gives about as many clues as a white sheet of paper.
However, the second I step forward, he bolts off the concrete with strength he's never displayed, tackling me to the ground. A sense of déjà vu washes over me as we've now switched roles.
While avoiding his attempts to suffocate me, I curse myself for not knocking him out while the wind blew in my favor. It wouldn't be hard; arms out like boa constrictors, heart shut off. But James knows my character; knows that no matter who he is, what his intentions are, I won't attack while he's down. And each time, he never fails to remind me that no matter what they look like, an enemy will always exploit mercy.
So show none.
His fist grazes my face, switching tactics from cutting off air supply to simply beating me senseless. Lovely. However, his still wounded right leg shakes and with a faulty foundation, the entire structure could come crashing down at any second. "Kindness is weakness." I don't hear anything else as he punches me in the lower jaw the same time I attack his unreliable leg.
It's pathetic how easy pain becomes my superior and with James's weight crushing me, I suffer double the damage. The floor is cold, offering no condolences.
He rubs his leg and I copy the motion for my jaw. My Energy climbs my palms like vines, searching for the wound in an attempt to begin its healing process.
"Don't hold back," he instructs. It passes as a signal for the end of our time out and with the half grin, he faces me, waiting for my call. I curl my toes, realizing that there's nothing else for me to pull out of my bag of tricks.
James trained you. He'll beat you if you use your tactics against him. So don't, Demon coaches before I can push her out of my mind.
Maybe she's the only way I can win this, I ponder, thinking the idea over of just letting her in. But before I can, James grows impatiently like a weed. He uses fighting combinations we haven't gone over to gain the upper hand. They're carefully choreographed to distract me while he takes me down but my attention doesn't split.
"Come on, Kerissa. Do something," he sneers in the nastiest voice I've ever heard. His mouth twists into a sadistic grin and his eyes squint as he carries the taunt. "Fine. I will."
There are invisible hands reaching into me, stealing control of my own. I cannot stop my gaze from locking with his. I swear his eyes change color: lighter, almost unforgiving.
I raise a hand effortlessly and slap myself across the face. Thwack. It carries a stinging sound through the basement, bouncing off the walls. James stares at me in intrigue, planting suggestions in my mind like a gardener. Do it again. Harder. What he's perfectly unaware of, however, is that I've perfected the art of rejecting his Sense –at least when it isn't on full power. James grows cocky, underestimating me and I use that to my advantage. Rene's words return to me in the direst of situations: Imagine James' mind control like strings. And then use your own mind to cut those strings.
Imagination must be a powerful thing because as soon as I truly see the strings falling away to the floor, I begin to feel my fingers again. While James believes he has me right where he wants me, the roles couldn't be more reversed. He sits on his imaginary throne when the second slap comes in quieter but with more of a head jerk.
All of this is worth it when I land a strong punch to his ribs. He'd turned his back on his opponent, a lesson that was drilled into me in the first week. A few knuckles on his right hand crack as he clutches his midsection, wheezing like he's just run a marathon.
My breathing is heavy from anger... or adrenaline but I still make the words out, "You're so fucking lucky I'm not wearing any rings." I shake my fingers to loosen the burning feeling, looking down at him. As soon as he heals, James could take me down, but I know he won't. He'll want to watch me smash my moral compass all on my own. He'll want to prove that his insane methods work.
I catch a glance of myself in the panel of mirrors to my right. In there, a girl with tied up hair and pure rage on her face stares back, chest heaving from effort in training. Her lip curls like she spends her time glaring at strangers and kicking puppies. For a good second, I let her consume me, but when James grabs my ankle, I remember my job.
With a heavy heart and closed eyes, I move to his side, lift my foot and stomp down as hard as I can. The sound of my foot hitting the hole between his arm and torso rings loud in my ears with the criticisms of just how weak I truly am.
My hands are hot and my legs tremble with a fatigue I've never known. I make my way to my water bottle and sit on the floor, not bothering to get a stool.
"Kerissa!" a too familiar voice barks from the side. I didn't realize there was anyone else here. When I turn my head, I'm met with the displeased look of Chase, staring me down from near the elevator. The rest of the team is with him but they wear blank looks, anticipating what's about to go down. "You failed." At the tone of his voice, shame floods me like a broken dam, until I realize why I did what I did.
"No, if this were a real fight, I wouldn't hesitate. But would James really be useful with a broken arm? We're supposed to be fighting criminals – not each other." And with that, just to illustrate my point, I stand back up to bring James his water. My leg trembles slightly but I don't let anyone see it slow me down.
Chase looks like he wants to protest. Dark circles under his eyes make his displeased look far more menacing.
"I knew there was a reason Rene chose you," Izaly comments idly having moved to a corner to start her own warm up. There's a dull sense of approval on her face, mixed in with her regular emotionless expression. She plays with a rough strand of hair. "Respect." I can't help it; I grin.
Chase's impatient demeanor has intensified tenfold. "Let's just hope that you don't get killed. I'm not cleaning up your body." And with that, Chase joins Izaly, Red and Weston start arguing about acting methods, James leaves and soon, I'm standing there, still focused on catching my breath so I can keep going.
The fire in my wrist has been reduced to a sore pain but it doesn't stop me from making another comment when I'm back on the mat. Red stops arguing to focus on me. The punching bag barely flinches when I hit it – I'm far weaker than I usually am. "You need Energy," she sings, nudging Weston who joins the party.
"Let's go to Qi," Weston declares, winking at me. I just about melt. He's so cute, what the hell?
Chase groans; not in pain, but at me for an action I haven't even committed yet. "Fine!" he mutters. "But you get to deal with her million and one questions."
I don't ask anything – just so I can prove Chase wrong. It's immature and everyone watches me, openly hoping for a slip with amused faces but I don't. Instead, I wear a look of pain, initiating a conversation that leads to an explanation without a direct question but no one takes the bait.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
After fifteen minutes of getting ready, I head to the living room in a slight rush. Red insisted that I wear makeup but I felt too antsy to leave. At this point, whether I ask or not, someone is going to explain things to me.
I'm surprised to see them all dressed, lounging in the living room. They contrast from the monochrome furniture in casual clothing that brings unique inner styles out of them. It's also a sight to see that Red is completely covered up while Izaly rocks a revealing top – I had them pegged the other way around. You can't always be right. No one would expect us to be anything more than teenagers looking for a good time with questionable morals and perfect hair.
"Can we leave yet?" Weston asks, wearing sweatpants and looking completely unfit for a club. But no girl in their right mind would see his clothes as a deal breaker with a face like that. "I'm starving!" And then he laughs like he's just made the funniest joke in the world.
"We can't leave until someone tells me what's going on." It's not a question, I think, a pointed glance directed at Chase.
He sighs but takes it upon himself to finally explain things. "You've been surviving on Demmortal Energy but it's running out because you keep getting hurt and your Energy goes to healing you. Your hand is healing slowly and you're tired because of your lack of Energy. Our bodies know when we need more of it –like how you eat food only when you're hungry." He doesn't realize it, but comparing the act of stealing the life force from an unsuspecting human to eating turns my stomach.
I don't let it become public knowledge as we step into the elevator, going down. It makes a rickety sound, like it's about to break. For a high tech building with an immaculate aesthetic, they sure could update some of their machinery.
The garage is easily comparable to a mall parking lot. The only difference is that this one features less vandalism in a smaller space. The sound of a mysterious substance dripping echoes faintly. There are white posts giving structure so the roof doesn't cave in and markers on the floor, creating spaces to park. Surprisingly, there are far more cars here than I would've expected.
"Most of these cars are owned by people who actually work in DEM. You have to remember, DEM is still a science research lab. We just work above it." However, I follow them to the back; where there are a few cars marked DEM in their parking spaces. Company cars.
I follow suit as the rest of them get into the first car on the right. Chase wins a round of rock paper scissors against Red, he slides into the driver's seat and she takes the liberty to explain what to do from the passenger side.
"Pick a person. Ask them to 'get out of here' with you and then take their Energy. It's pretty easy to convince humans that what they're feeling is an adrenaline rush. Just don't take too much. Like, don't let them pass out."
Weston, sitting behind me, pulls my hair. "Easy as pie and no one has to die," he rhymes, craning his neck to smile at me.
"Yes, but was it necessary for you to pull my hair?" I ask, scowling at him a little. He only smiles cheekily back.
I try to stay out of the conversation as much as I can but with Chase shouting profanities at drivers to fill the noise, I can't resist. He has the worst case of road rage I've seen in a while. They laugh at my jokes the same way my friends would but when it comes time to tell stories, I suddenly feel like I'm stuck on an island while the rest of them are on a ferry back to the main land.
When we do arrive, my nose turns in disgust. The place looks far from what I expect. For one thing, it's a dump. However, it certainly has the numbers as the line seems to go down the block. There's a little graffiti on the dull brick walls and blue neon signs above the overhead.
"It's nicer on the inside," Chase mutters, following the rest of them to the side door entrance. We move and right before we enter, he announces sarcastically, "Welcome to Qi."
That's what he leaves me with as we enter a land of strobe lights and loud music. The bouncer recognizing Chase, gives him a warning look but I'm too I'm lost in a sea of people to pay attention.
Chase is right. The interior is a lot nicer. Artful. The floor is a large space with pop up tables like mushrooms for people to put their drinks. Too the sides are lavish, leather seating for when dancing gets a little too tiring. However, it's also packed like sardines in a can so the distractions could be hiding the ugliness like a bright smile on a terrible person. Or perhaps, that's just my suspicious nature.
Without knowing what to do, I find myself at the bar, sipping a non-alcoholic drink. Seeing this as a futile endeavor, I spin around to leave but the drink goes crashing to the floor, ending up all over someone's shoes. "Crap, I'm so sorry!"
The boy, lit under a setup of multiple spotlights, smiles, shaking his head. "No worries." He has a slight accent where his vowels are awkwardly rounded out.
I watch as his angular eyes crease and his cheekbones become even more cut as he smiles. He looks Hispanic with tan skin but it's hard to tell because the lights give both of us a greenish tint. He wears brown jacket and tattered jeans with hair up, a look that's seen on many people of all ages – but he must be at least twenty.
"Sorry, it's kind of my first time," I add a little sheepishly. He takes my hand without asking and cautiously leads me to the dance floor. I don't retract because the grip is loose – if I want, I can pull away.
Without knowing what I'm supposed to do, I copy the motions of those around me. My body jerks to the beat of the song and I jump around like I actually have the energy to do so. It seems to cut it but I won't be able to do this for much longer. "I'm Kerissa!" I shout over the music. It's changed songs but it all sounds like generic dubstep.
"Bellamy," he replies, not raising his voice in the least. "So you come here often?" I don't reply, letting the question die and then we both laugh uncomfortably.
"Yeah, I'm here with some friends," I try to nod my head off to them, but they're nowhere to be found. All I see are people dancing like they don't have a life to get back to when the night ends. "Who I can't find."
Priorities, Demon chides, getting annoyed. I roll my eyes.
"Hey, you want to get out of here?" I use Weston's line, cringing as it sounds disgusting from my lips.
There's a pause but then, he smiles, leading me to a door that I expect to be the exit. Instead, it's a private room with another set of couches and some artistic decoration. Unlike the main floor, this room features minimalism and only has color in the crooked paintings and fake flowers near white walls. "I'm friends with the owner," he explains like it means everything. I refrain from asking for his age; he'd ask for mine and then we'd be in a mess.
Despite being in a moderately quiet space with chaos knocking at our door, we fall into a conversation. He's actually a cool guy; deferring college so he can help his Dad with the roofing business. He has a little brother who's only one year older than me. Eventually, I shiver like we're standing out in the cold. As expected, Bellamy reaches his warm hands out, encasing them in mine. I smile, holding tight to the connection like it's coffee on a Monday morning. The feeling is instantaneous and within seconds, I start to feel the life brighten my features. He, however, doesn't look so hot, hands tightening instead of becoming limp and frame growing rigid.
"Wait! Stop!" he moans, trying to pry me off him. I wonder why he hasn't passed out yet. "You're going to kill me!"
Of everything that could've gone wrong, this is a record. Without looking back, I stand up from the chaise and leave the room, entering blackness. There's a neon sign that reads "EXIT" – a beacon of sorts. Before I'm out, a hand pulls me out the door and my reflexes tell me to scream as loud as I can. However, Chase covers my mouth and with an expression that reads as concern, he asks only one question: "What happened?"
In a mess of stutters and shivers from being improperly dressed for the weather, I stumble out an explanation. "I-I tried to take Energy from a guy... like Weston told me to. But the guy – the guy didn't get weak like they usually do. It was like he k-knew what was going on. Chase, he told me he'd die. Die!"
Chase swears, looking down as we quickly reach the car. "You have the best fucking luck in the world, you know? Trust you to feed on another Demmortal." My eyes widen and my mouth becomes unable to spit out a snappy retort. If it wasn't so cold, I would've turned red from embarrassment. "Do you know how much shit you could get into, how much shit I could get into if anyone finds out about you? Please tell me you didn't tell that guy you're part of DEM."
I shake my head no.
"Your name?"
I don't answer.
That sends him into another fit. The rest of the team are already waiting in the car, talking animatedly. However, when they see the tone of our conversation, theirs dies quicker than a butterfly in winter.
There are awkward glances around the group until Weston finally asks, point blank: "Kerissa, what did you do?"
hahaha kerissa literally cannot catch a break. my poor dumbass. and bellamy, who do you think he is? i promise he'll have significance soon. also, it's pretty obvious where his name comes from. i'm obsessed with the hundred. wanheda pt 2 was last week and it was so awesome. if you watch the show, hit me up. i need a buddy! also, i've been watching "you're the worst" and "jane the virgin." if you watch those, let me know too! i watch way too much tv [also just started jessica jones.]
i just started second semester. my teachers are fabulous and intelligent people but i'm thinking they're strict as hell. there goes my grades. oh well. math, english, french and government. why???????
no idea when i'll update this next, to be honest. i'm not really taking it seriously or anything. school is a priority. but if you're still here, that's pretty cool, i guess.
thanks guys,
love you!
xoxo, mel.